


The Boy with Five Names

by Odin16immortal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, M/M, Multi, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odin16immortal/pseuds/Odin16immortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow always thought he would never have a soulmate. Nevertheless, on Jon's fifteenth birthday he receives more than he bargained for. If his secret comes to light, the whole realm may be thrown into chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Vow

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains book spoilers YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Also, this is my first fanfic be gentle.

Lord Eddard looks at his eldest son sitting rather awkwardly in the solar. Jon’s white direwolf lounges at his feet only glancing briefly at Ned when he enters. Jon gets up out of seat and bows. Ned waves at him to sit down before sitting across the table, pouring wine in large silver goblets for both of them. Jon pushes his hand through his thick dark curly hair. Stark hair, Ned has heard many rumors from his bannersmen to his own wife noting that Jon looks more a Stark than his trueborn children. They are not Starks they don’t know and won’t be able to see. For that, Jon Snow is very lucky indeed. I swore to Lyanna on her deathbed he would do what he could. The vow won’t be broken no matter the cost.  
“You are going to the Wall on the morrow,” Eddard states. Jon looks in the eye proud and defiant just like, Ned turns his back from that thought and instead takes a sip of wine.  
“Thank you, my lord.” Jon replies his dark eyes are sullen but flicker with an excitement that all young men feel before an adventure. A boy, that’s all he is. The Wall will age him faster than he realizes. Lyanna would not want this.  
“Father, are you really going South? What about Bran?” Jon looks at him and Ned is unsure what exactly Jon is thinking. He tries to mask the rising panic that courses through him. Half truths and lies are never Ned’s strong suit. I promised Lyanna, I vowed.  
“Bran’s fate is in the gods hands. My wife will watch over him with your brother Robb. I called you here for another reason entirely.” Eddard says gravely. Jon cocks his head to the side his dark eyes glisten reminding Eddard of things he should’ve forgotten. He wishes to forget the eyes of another color but no less bright or of blood and battle. He takes another drink.  
“ You know of the soul scars, correct?” Ned pauses calming himself before the inevitable.  
“ The soul scar represents your other half. It is said the children of the forest were forged from the heart trees. That the split branches of the tree made man and woman whom together would be one once more.” Jon recites the creation myth the way any good Northerner would. The southerners have their own version that involves the Seven, Ned isn’t clear on the matter but Catelyn told him the story once. Either way, from the North to the Summer Isles soul scars are extremely important no matter how strange the customs or traditions that coincide with the event. Even in the North, known for its quiet manner, burst into flames. For Robb, the whole of Winterfell celebrated his twelfth birthday when the Heir of Winterfell had a name carved into his wrist. The Stark family danced and sang around the heart tree in festive celebration. The song is old and ancient in an unknown tongue, although some believe that the children of the forest spoke it. The moment the gods carve a name into the skin of a child is the most festive in Northerners belief system. Unlike, the worship of the Seven there are few rules and regulations but this is a sacred rite. Bastards sing to the heart trees alone with no grand feast or recognition such is the burden of baseborn.  
“I have not received my scar,” Jon states. His eyes gaze at the direwolf at his feet. Slowly, Jon grasps his wine cup and downs the drink in one gulp. Eddard presses a hand on the young man’s shoulder feeling the tension built up beneath them.  
“Not yet,” Ned emphasizes. “ If your scar is odd in any way then you must promise me to show it to no one!”  
Jon’s eyes grow wide. In the North, names are never shown unless the two halves of the soul meet each other. “Father! I would never do such a thing!” Jon sputters. Ned nods in reassurance but clenches his hand hard around Jon’s shoulder.  
“No matter how close you get to your Black Brothers reveal nothing! Promise me this.” Ned states with such fervor that it shocks even him. Jon stares wide eyed but nods. “I promise,” Jon swears quietly. He looks bewildred and Ned understands the confusion of the situation. Hopefully, Jon never comprehends Ned’s demand. The gods in their wisdom so far have made the boy physically a Stark may it remain so.  
“ Good, I do not mean to scare you my son. It is just that we may not see each other for a long time. Remember, Jon, you may not bear my name but you are my blood. “ He grips Jon’s hand before leaving the room.  
Winterfell has grown cold, Ned notes and the night is filled with only faint noises of small folk. Memories come up like a wave crashing against the mental wall the Lord of Winterfell has built. Blood on white sheets a frail hand gripping his with the little strength she had left. Sliver hair and pale skin marked with scars like a tapestry. Name upon name, going black and gnarled matching the death of the man who bore them. Ned closes his eyes, evidently he has drank too much. Yet, the fear did not disappear when he lay down next to Catelyn for the night. He will be alright, the Stark blood is in him. Lord Eddard Stark could barely find sleep that night and for the first time he dreams of dragons.


	2. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow finds himself among the wildlings. Between trying to stay alive and information gathering, Jon struggles with unwanted feelings for two particularly troublesome individuals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are book spoilers again because I am mostly dealing with the book universe. Enjoy!

Jon doesn’t really know how his life ended up this way. He marches forwarded shielding his eyes from the onslaught of cold winds. The wildings around him march in silence all eyes upon him, watching Jon’s every move. Only the girl, Ygritte, seems the least bit amiable towards him. She is more curious than suspicious; he is unsure which is worse. The Halfhand’s last request haunts Jon’s mind as much as the man’s blood on his blade. “ Become the eyes and ears of the Watch, for men like us, the watch is our only mistress, our sole purpose.” Men like us, the term strikes him, Qhorin knew the truth about Jon, a reality they both share. Underneath his fur gloves, Jon’s wrist is as blank as the day he was born. While most people receive their names at twelve, Jon at sixteen has never felt the pain of a name scar marking itself languidly across his right wrist. Not only a bastard, one even the gods deem unlovable. Hardly, a surprise though, his own mother didn’t want him so why would anyone else? He has no need for soulmates, the only thing that matters is the Wall. In the Night Watch even a bastard can have honor even those with blank wrists could sacrifice all for duty.  
“ What are you thinking about Jon Snow?” Ygritte asks with an air of absentmindness. Jon knows that underneath the careless tone there is a knife. Careful be very careful he thinks calmly.  
“What type of man is Mance Rayder?” Jon says instead of answering Ygritte’s question. The girl raises an eyebrow but says nothing contrary. “Mance is the most extraordinary ordinary man, in the world.” Ygritte answers. Jon frowns that statement means little and less. Ygritte may not want to murder him this instant but she’s no wealth of knowledge or at least not for him, not right now. Nevertheless, Jon finds himself inexplicably drawn to her much to his dismay.  
The smell of the wildling camp hits first before Jon sees the large expanse of humanity. There are so many, Jon tries not to let his shock show. Mance has gathered many more men, women, and children then the Night Watch are even close to being able to handle. The sights, sound and smells is so dizzying that the Lord of bones has to continually shove Jon in the right direction.  
“Crow, you may have fooled your fellow birds, but you won’t fool Mance. He’ll know and soon I’ll have a new wolfskin cloak! Mayhaps I’ll use your little crow bones for a new breast plate!” The Lord of Bones jeers. Jon stares him down unflinchingly letting his glare show his own ferocity. If Rattleshirt wants blood, Jon would not hesitate to give it to him. His hand twitches near his blade. The wildling smirks but turns around sharply gesturing for Jon to follow.  
Mance Rayder’s tent is not well embellished or anything like the living space of the average southron lord. A bard singing a song that Jon should know but the stress is causing him to forget. The man’s voice is like his face, plain but with an oddly magnetic charm. Then, Jon saw the King Beyond the Wall, he had a bushy greyining beard and every bit the ruler by appearance. Jon lowers himself to one knee stating “Your Grace,” loud and clear. He did not want to appear treacherous right away.  
“Would ya look at that! The rest of you see him kneeling to me. From now on y’all better bend the knee e’ery time I fart! Har!” The man bellows. The whole tent including Ygritte burst out into ruddy laughter at Jon’s expense. Jon wishes he didn’t note how good Ygritte laugh sounds. Perhaps, he is not up for this task after all. Shaking away his doubts Jon stands up trying to keep some dignity.  
“What is this baby crow doing in my camp?” The Bard questions with no particular malice in his voice yet Jon feels a chill go down his spine. This man is the King Beyond the Wall of that there is no doubt, Jon begins to lower himself once more this time in genuine awe. For some reason, Jon leans into him feeling like a moth drawn to a flame. A strange longing emanates from the depths of Jon’s stomach and Jon wants desperately for it to stop. This feeling has been haunting him since he met Ygritte and for some reason has doubled in the presence of Mance Rayder. With Mance staring him down and Ygritte’s hand on his shoulder, Jon’s head starts to feel lighter. Perhaps, it is not so cold Beyond the Wall because the tent feels as hot as a furnace.  
“This baby crow killed the Halfhand. He wants to be one o’ us not a crow no more,” Ygritte states. Her hand squeezes Jon’s shoulder and Jon ignores how his heart beats even faster.  
“Leave us, all of you,”Mance orders. The group of wildlings begins to shuffle out. The Lord of Bones glares harshly at Jon. That one will never accept him. Hopefully, Jon can convince the King Beyond the Wall to trust his feigned loyalty. Yet, Jon could not think of more tricky man to deal with. Mance Rayder’s face is not only average its void of any intent. Only the man’s eyes carry an odd weight that lodges deep into his soul.  
“An odd thing to have a Stark or should I call you Snow, in my tent. “Mance remarks.  
“How did you know?” Jon questions. Confusion crisscrosses Jon’s face to Mance’s amusement.  
“The wall may keep out an army but not a single man,” Mance explains. Jon feels a chill go down his spine. ‘I know more about you than you do me,’ goes unsaid. This conversation will decide Jon’s fate that much is clear.  
Their talk is reminiscent of a sword fight, Jon is barely blocking the King Beyond the Wall’s attacks. Yet, Mance Rayder appears impervious to any of Jon’s verbal blows. A sardonic quip and a malicious smile would strike Jon harshly leaving him struggling to hold his metaphorical ground. Finally, Jon settles upon the truth. He speaks of Winterfell of his baseborn existence. In a few short words he describes his own aggravation with a life he did not choose. Jon breathes thick, cold air and Mance just looks at him before his lips quirk in what might have been a smile.  
“Looks like you need a new cloak,” Mance states. Jon sighs in relief, at least for now, he is safe. As his black cloak drops to the floor and a new sheepskin cloak is placed upon his shoulders, Jon feels a sharp pain. At first its just one but then it feels like someone is carving into his skin on his wrists, his back,..,, it feels like a blaze running over his skin. This can’t be! Jon eyes widen because he knows the tales but it is far too late for this to happen now.


	3. Reactions: Mance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mance Rayder receives a surprising soulmate at a very late time in his life. He and Dalla deal with this new revelation and hope for a prosperous future over the Wall. However, is the future as bright as they dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Mance/Dalla heavy. I kind of wanted to show the reactions of different characters to getting a soul mate. I'm starting with Mance but we'll get to Jon pretty soon. Kudos and comments are welcome.

Mance Rayder first acknowledges the name upon his wrist while lying next to his wife, Dalla. Dalla’s skin smells of the harsh woods and musk of a long winter. She’s nothing like the young man in his tent earlier, naïve with a youth’s courage. Mance had liked the boy more than he ever truly should especially since the King beyond the Wall believes the boy’s blood is still black. Yet, Mance wants Jon Snow near him and not purely as a resource. The feeling is unfamiliar, frightening to the point that Mance pushed this idea away locking it up in the crevices of his heart that also holds his sentimentality for the Night Watch. Earlier that day, when the pain on his wrist escalated in the middle of a strategic meeting with Styr of Thenns and Tormund Giantsbane, Mance Rayder did not flinch at the discomfort or the burning sensation that tried to engulf him. Beyond the Wall, a king must always be strong or not be a king for very long. Dalla, however, knows something is amiss her wide green eyes follow him. As soon as the meeting is over, Dalla leaves her spot near the edge of the tent. She stands near him a soothing presence like a balm on a wound. She presses her pregnant stomach to his back attempting to relax the shivers that run down Mance’s spine.   
“Sweetling, what’s the matter? Speak with me.” Dalla whispers so quiet that only the heart trees and he could hear her. Slowly Mance turns to her offering his right wrist. Confusion flickers across Dalla’s sweet features her cheeks fill a deeper red as she grasps her husband’s outstretched hand. Mance looks to the side in order to avoid reading the name of his soulmate. A foolish action but he doesn’t want to appear too eager to know his other half in the presence of the woman who is carrying his child. Dalla stares fixedly at the scar, her face is still like a statue. Mance knows she is deliberating the right words effortlessly calculating the pros and cons of this revelation. It is at moments like these that Mance falls in love with this woman all over again. He would admit to anyone that Dalla is smarter than him, although less cunning. Indeed, his wife is also his counsel, Dalla is the woman he chose not only to love but to lead along side as well. Now this stupid scar that he is far too old to be receiving is threatening to sunder this foundation they had so painstakingly created. For that he is unsure he can forgive the person unwittingly named upon his flesh.   
The rest of the day seems to blur of activity as Mance attempts to mold an alliance between all the unruly free folk. This business with soul mates is far easier to ignore when you’re marching the whole of a people to possible salvation over the Wall. It is only in the silence of the night that Dalla and Mance can discuss their private lives.  
“It is a blessing, my love,” Dalla states kindly. Her voice shakes slightly because they both knew what this meant.   
“ I have to capture her and make her mine. She’ll have to be my queen. The free folk’s won’t mind a mistress but two queens will raise some ire.” Mance whispers sadly holding Dalla close as if that will somehow make the words less harsh. The free folk have surprising amount of rules despite their name and the foolish southron lords believe; knowing and following these guidelines are essential to not dying. Mance cannot die, there’s too much hinging on him and his success.  
“Sweetling, it is not a woman’s name on your wrist.” Dalla whispers into his ear. Her nails brush through Mance’s hair in attempt to distract him from her words.  
The King Beyond the Wall leans away from Dalla. His face contorts as he takes in this new information. “Do not jape with me woman,” Mance hisses.

“I am not, my love. Jon is a man’s name if ever I heard one. Don’t fret darling, we both know you grew up surrounded by nothing but men, so you would have a greater appreciation for the male form. That never stops you from enjoying this now does it?” Dalla wraps her hand around Mance’s cock. He moans as Dalla nibbles on his neck.   
“I think my soul mate is Jon Snow. I felt strange around the boy.” Mance is mumbling now trying to focus on something other than the friction.   
“Mmmm… he was a good looking lad. I wonder what he’s like in bed do you think he’s still a maid?” Dalla whispers seductively. Her left hand is gripping his balls the other the shaft. A litany of filthy suggestions are flowing into his mind some he is providing for himself. He starts to finger into Dalla feeling her every clench.  
An insanely selfish idea creeps into Mance’s mind; he’s almost embarrassed to give voice to it. The after flow of love making, however; makes most men’s tounges loose.  
“He could stay with us. No one would fault me for wanting my soulmate near and a wife to bear children. “ The King Beyond the Wall murmurs while wrapping Dalla up in his arms.  
“ Admit it, you just want the boy to share our bed,” Dalla quips. “You should tell him,” she adds softly.   
“Later, after we have gone over the Wall and found somewhere safe from the others. Then, I’ll tell him.” Mance utters a coolness settling over him as they both drift to sleep. His dreams tonight are different instead of blood and black cloaks he sees Dalla and Jon. They are both sitting in a summer field filled with flowers playing with a child who has Mance’s dark hair and Dalla’s bright eyes. He attempts to make his way to the happy threesome but he can’t. Fear grips the King Beyond the Wall, the ground climbs up his body wrapping around his waist in a vice grip. Mance is thrashing now trying to reach his salvation but his legs are stuck numb to all his efforts. They are so close so very close but his arms cannot reach.   
Jon falls to his knees, the smile upon his face contorts into an expression of shock as his body is filled with blade wounds from unseen foes. Dalla doubles over clutching stomach blood drips out her mouth and her dress is stained crimson with her life fluids. The child disappears in a puff of smoke and everything seems to appear to be burning. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me!” Mance screams his heart pounding in his ears.  
On Mance Rayder’s 45th birthday , he received the name of his soul mate and woke up screaming from a dream that tells the gods plans, whether he wants it to or not.


End file.
